


to not know who i am (i know i'm good with you)

by tousled



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Car Accidents, F/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 10:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16473557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: It feels like all the memories are just there, just out of her reach and it’s enough hope she feels strangled by it. A part of her wants to get away, lock the apartment up and run away and learn about herself, or find a new person but every time she goes to do it seriously an overwhelming sense of guilt paralyses her. Something’s wrong, and it’s right on the tip of her tongue, the boy with the blue eyes and a smug smirk curled up in his cheeks and she thinksdon’t forget, don’t forget, don’t forget.





	to not know who i am (i know i'm good with you)

**Author's Note:**

> oh wow ! well this happened. for the httyd rare pair week 2018 day day 5: amnesia // "I haven't forgotten you yet." title is from i like me better by lauv. not beta'd unfortunately, i'd love to hear your thoughts and comments!
> 
> spoilers for why this is rated mature so if you want to know the exact warnings for that, check the end notes before reading.

Astrid doesn’t remember if she used to smoke before or not. There was a cigarette tray on the balcony of her apartment, but it’s old and she couldn’t even find a used lighter so she’s not sure. It’s like everything in her life right now; half convinced she does, half convinced she doesn’t, so she tries it anyway.

 

A man on the street had wolf whistled, asking if Astrid was a model and where to find the photos if so. She flipped him the bird, half because she didn’t _know._ She looked at the shape of her own body in the mirror on the back of her closet door and could see the shape of her hip bones, the edge of her ribs. Maybe she smoked instead of eating, starving herself to become model skinny, or maybe she just wasted away whilst she was still in the coma. The photos on the social media she’s not supposed to be looking at, but her hands had typed in the password without her even remembering it, suggest she was an _athlete._ She was muscle and prowess, and there’s half a gym full of equipment in the spare bedroom.

 

In the photos online there’s also a boy. He’s all big grin, bright blue eyes and he hasn’t visited her, not even _once._ She can’t remember him, and they don’t do anything particularly PDA - like in any of the photos, but something deep inside is telling her he’s _important._

 

She recognises Hiccup, but only because her half brother comes around every four or so days to bring groceries like she’s forgotten how to get to the supermarket (she has). She saw Snotlout at the hospital, he’d been there when she’d woken up but she hasn’t seen him since (it’s suspicious. He cried when she looked at him, and kept whispering “it’s tough, it’s tough, tough, tough.” like some kind of maniac). There’s _the_ boy (blue eyes, blue _sad, sad_ eyes, gentle hands), and another boy she doesn’t know and two girls who feel familiar but the names are just out of reach (they’re laughing, heads pressed close and Astrid’s throat feels tight.)

 

Taking a deep breath Astrid brings her half burnt cigarette to her mouth and breathes out again. Someone’s deleted all the conversations on her phone, and she scrolls through the contacts but ninety percent of the names mean nothing to her. None of them stand out, like maybe she’d know just looking and she takes another drag of the cigarette to calm the shake of anger in her soul.

 

It feels like all the memories are just there, just out of her reach and it’s enough hope she feels strangled by it. A part of her wants to get away, lock the apartment up and run away and learn about herself, or find a new person but every time she goes to do it seriously an overwhelming sense of guilt paralyses her. Something’s wrong, and it’s right on the tip of her tongue, the boy with the blue eyes and a smug smirk curled up in his cheeks and she thinks _don’t forget, don’t forget, don’t forget._

  


**

  


“Who’s missing?” She asks Hiccup when he shows her a clearly edited photo of her friend group. There’s two missing people, she knows, but now it feels like conspiracy. Her half brother is keeping the boy and the blonde girl from her.

“No one,” Hiccup lies, and even if Astrid didn’t already _know_ , she’d be able to tell. She raises an eyebrow and he scoffs, shaking his head. “This is all of us - you, Snotlout, Fishlegs, me and Heather.”

 

Astrid unlocks her phone and logs into her social media account and her fingers itch for a smoke. She pulls up the first photo she spots, a pool day and she’s in a too big letterman jacket, bather bottoms peaking out and her legs rest over the boy’s. He’s leaning back, big sunglasses on his nose and throwing a peace sign as Snotlout does a gang sign. The blonde girl is clearly rolling her eyes as she looks over at the group, resting against the girl Hiccup called Heather.

 

“How did you get into that?” Hiccup asks, staring. Astrid flicks to the next photo, Snotlout putting sunscreen on Fishlegs’ back, but in the shape of a smiley face instead of properly rubbing it in. She goes to flick to the next photo but Hiccup stops her. “How did you log in?”

“My hands remembered,” she says, shrugging. “You left people out and lied to me.”

“It’s not important,” Hiccup says, and Astrid knows he’s lying again but she lets him. If Hiccup won’t help she’ll remember herself.

 

She thumbs at the pack of cigarettes in her pocket and pulls out one, rolling it between two fingers. Apparently her family is well off because no one questions how easily she’s going through the money they give like an allowance. Especially when Hiccup’s buying her groceries.  Most of it it’s going to dumb things she buys because they feel like almost memories, like they _could_ be a memory, but smokes aren’t cheap either. Hiccup gives the cigarette a nasty look, putting his own phone away.

 

“It’s a dirty habit,” he says, and it makes Astrid want to light up inside the apartment. Dirty habit, dirty liar, dirty rotten faulty temporal lobe. Astrid stands up, reaching for her lighter and heading out to the balcony.

“Did I smoke?” Astrid asks, looking half over her shoulder. “Before, I mean. Did I smoke before I forgot myself? And if I didn’t, does that make me a new person now?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hiccup says and Astrid’s not sure if he means about the smoking, or about being a new person.

  


**

  


For a moment, Astrid swears black and blue she sees the boy in the the local supermarket, carrying five bananas and three litres of milk and starts to dart after him. Rounding the corner, it’s obvious it’s not the person she thought he was and takes a full minute staring at the guy anyway. They make awkward eye contact and his eyes are brown, and they’re wrong so she offers a wild little smile and spins on her heel. How utterly embarrassing. She buys pineapple juice and a packet of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup even though she didn’t care for them that much at the hospital.

 

It breaks the damn, seeing the guy that’s not quite the boy and she starts seeing him _everywhere._

 

He’s not at the same supermarket another four times before it starts to freak Astrid out and she goes to the Walmart eight extra blocks away. She sees him the barista at a local coffee shop, and as a patron, and then at the sunglasses kiosk when she’s buying a new pair of jeans. He’s at the library, shushing an angry old lady and at the park when Astrid tries to have lunch outside.

 

“I haven’t forgotten you,” She tells a man with exactly the right hair on the subway and he looks at her weird so she sits somewhere else, thinking about the shade of blue the boy’s eyes. _I haven’t forgotten you yet,_ she thinks as loudly as possible into the universe. _I won’t forget you, I promise_.

 

The universe rewards her with a few more awkward encounters, another man on public transport and a guy with almost perfect eyes at the gym. She feels closer with every mistake, takes a drag of a cigarette on a sidestreet and can almost feel the warm line of the boy pressed up against her, head dipped at an uncomfortable angle so he can press his freezing cold nose into her neck. She remembers his hands in her pockets and doesn’t know if she’s smoking in her memory because she is now or if she did before.

 

The city’s cold has soaked into Astrid’s bones and she follows her memory into a hot shower, picking up a bottle of body wash she hasn’t used yet. It smells like sandalwood and pine, and feels like her boy pressed against her, kissing her neck, one hand spread across her thigh. She sucks in a breath and lathers up a loofah, biting her lip and getting lost in the smell, dragging her wet hair across one shoulder and remembers the boy’s teeth grazing against her skin, one hand stroking her rib cage, fingers pressing up inside her. She lets her own hand drift, trying to copy the movements, dropping the loofah.

 

There’s things she can’t do; leaning into him as she moans and twitches, shuddering under his mouth as it presses worship to her skin, an arm curling around her waist as he gets on his knees. She remembers, shaking with it but the name gets stuck and she sobs as she comes, desperate for the truth. Her whole body sings with how much she misses him, her mind quiet as she washes her hair and begs the universe to spare her just a name, just a few letters so she can work this out.

 

She smokes afterwards, probably ruining her reason for the shower in the first place as she lets the brick of her apartment soak up her warmth. Even if she’s the exact same person, she’s a new one now too. Maybe her boy wouldn’t even recognise her.

  


**

  


Hiccup is sloppy with his stuff, and maybe it’s because Astrid’s stopped asking or maybe because he actually wants her to work it out. He leaves paperwork behind and Astrid reads it because it’s an invoice for a flower service to the hospital she was at when still in the medically induced coma. It’s dated a week ago and Astrid wonders who on earth Hiccup’s sending flowers to. There’s a room number on the invoice, no name, and well, she’s got a check up at the hospital next week anyway so she makes an appointment to visit the room just after.

 

It makes the days inch along, knowing this could be _something_ (it could be _nothing_ but why wouldn’t Hiccup mention the flowers before? Why is this a secret too?). Hope blooms in her chest and she lets herself sink into doing nothing around her apartment, lazing on the couch like the boy’s there with her, watching a movie or pressing herself into her bed and breathing in the smell of the pillow. When she uses the fruity, sweet shampoo it makes her room smell like it and it’s a bit like the boy’s there too.

 

The night before she lets herself play pretend again, warm under the covers that smell like strawberries and vanilla and tries to remember. The weight of the blankets is good, and she touches her hips, running her fingers down her thighs. Her hands are too small, but she remembers the boy kissing at her fingers with a smile, and closes her eyes, letting her thoughts run. Astrid’s just about to touch herself, thinking of the boy’s mouth dragging down her stomach when a different memory slams into her as a horn blares down on the street.

 

Astrid’s foot is on the brake, and feels the impact, right through every single one of her cells, and the boy’s there too, blood dripping from a wound on his head. Astrid tries to scream, throwing a hand out, feeling herself move in slow motion into the steering wheel but powerless to stop it. None of it makes sense, there’s bone sticking out her arm and the boy’s scrabbling at his seat belt, upside down. His name bubbles up in her throat, and the moment rewinds back until all Astrid can see is headlights and feels her heart skip a beat as the crash plays over, 36x times faster.

 

She bolts upright in bed, breath heaving in her chest and she feels sick to her stomach. She broke the skin as she gripped her own thigh, the movement stinging as she gets up to put pyjamas on. Her heart and the nausea is still in the back of her throat and it beats out _my fault, my fault, my fault._

 

“I was in a car crash,” Astrid says, and hears Hiccup suck in a breath and then realises she’s on her phone, Hiccup’s blurry face looking up at her with undisguised worry. He looks the most truthful he ever has. “I was in a car crash and it was _my fault._ ”

“Astrid,” Hiccup says, voice thick. He looks tired, and not just because it’s the middle of the night. Astrid waits for more, waits for an explanation or _something_ but he looks like everything’s getting stuck in his throat too.

“Is Tuff the one you’re sending flowers to?” She has to ask, scared he’s going to say no. Scared he’s going to say she killed him and she couldn’t even fucking _remember._

 

“He’s alive,” Hiccup replies, and stays on the phone as Astrid shakes and shakes, sobbing into her hands with fear and relief and memories.

**Author's Note:**

> rated mature for a masturbation/sex scene, it's not super graphic but it's there. and also, for description of a car accident - it's not coherent, but there's some strong imagery and a character blames themselves for it. 
> 
> also. smoking is really bad for you and the people around you, if you're struggling with quitting there's help! in australia the quitline helpline is 13 78 48.


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